Family Trait
by MixedBreedMaiya
Summary: It's a time of change, but in all the excitement, she can't help but think of her family's unfortunate legacy when it comes to children. Is she capable? How is she to do this when her own mother couldn't? It will take his unwavering confidence to restore hers. Luckily, as she's reminded, she's not alone. [Raine/Regal headcanon]


Hey, everyone. Thanks for taking a look. This is another piece of my R&R headcanon, though it takes place well before the first one I published, "A Father's Arms." Hope you like it!

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She wasn't even showing yet. To look at her, a few things had changed in the past year: Her fair complexion had evened out, if only marginally; her hair was a few inches longer, falling in layers around her shoulders. But those were innocuous and natural, and no one ever commented on that. Except, perhaps, her brother when it had been a few months since they had seen each other. Still. It was unremarkable. It was the passage of time. It was living in an ocean resort, where even if an effort was made, one couldn't escape the sun entirely, particularly if that one happened to be married to a man who loved walking the beach for inexplicable reasons. It was normal, and even though it was obvious and apparent and visible, no one noticed.

This? This felt completely alien, foreign, _unnatural_ , and even though it was invisible, it was...all people saw. Only two months in. How was she supposed to get through the rest of them?

Violet eyes opened to stare at the ceiling she could only partially see with just one small lamp lighting the entire room. The house was still and quiet. The only sound was the faint, low rumble of Azzy's lazy purr in her lap. She was almost jealous as she absently drew her fingers through the striped fur. At least one of them could still sleep, she supposed.

Not that she wasn't tired. Actually, she was exhausted. Sleep had been elusive of late, ever since that haunting and harrowing dream, coming in restless snatches. She would go through the motions of preparing for bed; she would try to read (or at least pretend to), until she heard his breath even out when he drifted off. Then, she would lie awake with his arm tucked around her as always, looking into space with stinging, heavy eyes. But tonight, she had finally given up, unable even to even doze in and out. Yes, a bitter, sarcastic voice in the back of her mind kept telling her that she _needed_ to sleep, now more than ever, but somehow, that made it worse. So she had gingerly slipped herself from the bed and come downstairs to sink down on the couch. Unfortunately, changing scenery didn't change the train of thought that kept her awake. It didn't take away the dream.

She was tired of the smiles, of the giddy chatter, of all the suggestions, the congratulations, the planning. By all rights, she should be the most excited. After all, she was one of the only ones it actually affected. It affected her the _most_ at this stage. And maybe that spoke more to her than anyone else, but somehow, the more excited everyone became, the more they all cooed and asked questions and told her how "wonderful" it was, the less she wanted to have anything at all to do with it.

Which was literally...impossible.

A quiet sigh passed her lips, and she closed her eyes again, head resting heavily against the back of the sofa. She dragged her free hand up to splay it over her face, wishing she could just rub away this infuriating, nameless restlessness. Erase everything. Go back in time and never ask that question. It had started as a simple shock, though it wasn't really much of a mystery. A plus B usually equaled C, and it was a healthy marriage; she had just never thought about the idea before. But now...

"I thought there was only one nocturnal beauty in this family."

Behind her fingers, she reopened her eyes at the soft voice that broke her solitude and made her heart give a little jump of surprise. By now, she really should have been used to his impossible stealth and uncanny sense of timing, and yet still, somehow, she never was. Of course, it didn't help that she was finding it hard to focus at all these days, much less on so little sleep. In any case, she was glad her expression was hidden; it gave her time to school it before she took her hand away. When she did, it was with a faint, mostly neutral smile: her own practiced trademark.

"There is," she replied dryly, watching him come around to the front of the couch as he tied off his housecoat. Raine nodded to the cat in her lap. "She's sleeping."

Regal lowered himself to sit half-sideways on the edge of the cushion next to her and reached out to rub Azrael's head as she lifted it briefly to squint at him before rolling over a bit and hiding her eyes behind one paw with renewed purring. He chuckled softly, but there was a pointed sort of knowing in the gaze he leveled on her. "Something the two of you should have in common, at the moment." His voice was soft and even enough, but she _was_ well used to that look, and exactly what it meant.

Still, Raine shrugged one shoulder vaguely and laid her head back again, this time tipped a little toward him. "In a while."

"Mm." He dropped his eyes to Azzy as he continued stroking her fur with one gentle finger. "And the reason you don't...now?" He glanced up again without actually lifting his head, one eyebrow very slightly arched. She knew this dance. She also knew he knew this dance, but she turned her head away with a gentle shake and mercifully managed to bite back the yawn that would have utterly sabotaged her next reply.

"Not tired, I suppose. I was hoping to wear myself out by reading a little more, but I didn't want to risk waking you, so I moved down here. Her highness here interrupted, though."

"That, I highly doubt."

It was her turn to lift one brow when she looked back at the man once more, by all appearances, focused on the princess in question. "Which part?" she asked wryly. "That I was intending to read, or that Azrael decided to interrupt? I'm not sure either should seem particularly far-fetched-"

"That you're not tired."

This time, when he looked up, it was with very clear conviction. He drew his hand away from the cat and intertwined it loosely with the other in his lap, fixing her with an even less subtle version of his stare. She blinked, then averted her own gaze before she could stop herself. "Apparently," she countered coolly, "you've never had insomnia."

"Oh, I have been unable to sleep, but no one – not even the unshakeable Professor Sage – can go several days without more than a few hours' sleep and not be _tired_. ...Come now, Raine." Regal nudged her leg gently with his and leaned forward against his thighs. A muscle tightened in her jaw, and something twisted in her gut, appropriately enough, but she very consciously kept her voice even.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Raine." His own tone flattened a little. "I'm not so blind. I've heard the exhaustion in your voice; seen the preoccupation in your eyes. You were also reading a passage in your book this evening that you read last night, and you and I both know you have never had to reread anything in your life."

She snorted. "Checking my progress, now? I didn't realize I was on a schedule, but I can assure you, the apocalypse won't start just because I decided to take a second look at something. Getting a little obsessive, are we?"

"And you're resorting to hyperbole and redirection, my dear, two more of your tells. So the way I see it," he concluded, softening again just as she set her jaw and restlessly scratched the bridge of her nose, "there is only really one question remaining: How long will it be before we stop playing this little game and talk about what's really going on?"

The hand woven through Azrael's fur curled into a fist, to the cat's clear displeasure. With a sleepy, grumbling _mrow_ , she half-lept, half-tumbled to the floor, where she gave her hind paw a few brusque passes with her tongue before sauntering off to find a better place to continue her nap. Meanwhile, Raine couldn't even bring herself to look away from the faint shadows on the far wall. Silence fell over them. She sat there with her now-free arm wrapped tightly, subconsciously, around her middle; he watched her steadily and waited, as he always did, for her to find her words. The trouble was, she didn't want to talk. She never really wanted to talk when it came to herself, of course, but this was different.

Talking made her nervous. Talking brought it back up and punched a hole in the walls trying to provide insulation and opened the subject up for someone else to share and validate her doubts, for her to be analyzed, scrutinized, patronized. For everyone else to see the same specter she did and realize what it meant.

Talking made it real.

She closed her eyes and gave her head a small, sharp jerk to one side. It was already real, her inner voice reminded her, too real. How she could never tell whether her stomach roiled because of the new physical stresses or renewed psychological ones; how every smile and squeal of, "Congratulations!", felt like a slap in the face; how every time someone told her how hard it would be to wait another seven whole months, she panicked with the thought that it wasn't nearly long enough; how she couldn't even begin to think of things like colors and names; how her appetite had changed but she couldn't always bring herself to eat; how Regal himself was showing signs of _nesting_ , which should have been amusing but only made her feel more claustrophobic. This was very real. All of it was very, very real, and it wasn't something she could just walk away from. Or maybe the fact that she wanted to, at this point, was what scared her the most.

Though she was the one stubbornly holding onto the silence, every passing second in which she was aware of his gaze on her; in which she could be dwell on the juxtaposition of the two of them, how he was excited and happy while she felt like there was a block of ice forming in her chest; in which her mind could replay, over and over, that goddess-forsaken dream – it all mounted and built up, until, when he finally ended the standoff again, the spring around her spine snapped.

"Raine... If you won't talk, at least come back to bed. You need to sleep-"

"Especially now?" she finished for him before she could stop herself, the sharpness in her voice seeming almost to shatter the gentleness of his. "I'm aware, thank you." She closed her eyes again an instant later and pinched the bridge of her nose. So much for composure. Now she _certainly_ wasn't able to look at him.

"...Especially ever," came his quiet reply after a moment. "Now, later..." She had officially squandered the one chance he had offered to at least temporarily drop the conversation, and she knew it as he shifted closer and faced her very directly. "Raine, _what_ is going on with you?"

She released a breath through her nose, and some of the bristled tension seeped out of her posture, replaced once more with exhaustion both physical and mental. With anyone else, the facade would have stood. Not that no one else would have noticed something off, but to them, the walls would be immutable. She would have walked away and stayed safely hidden. She didn't have that option with him, hard as she might try at times.

"Please talk to me."

When she opened her eyes again, they stayed trained on the side wall, dull and unfocused. At long, long last, she came forward with just one simple word: "...Virginia."

There was another beat of silence while he undoubtedly waited for something a little more informative. When she didn't elaborate of her own volition, Regal prodded, "Your mother?" She actually flinched at the word, but she nodded, and again he voiced his confusion. "What about her?" He reached up to tuck back some of her hair, but she shied from his touch, agitated.

"She failed."

Again, silence. Her fingers, which had been fidgeting a little with the fabric of her pants leg, now curled tightly around the fabric instead as she held the dim room before her in a hard stare. She didn't want to look at him, but she didn't have to to feel him looking at her.

"She..."

"Failed," she repeated. "Yes. Virginia failed."

From the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. "I'm sorry, Raine – you've lost me... What are you talking about?" Regal shifted a little further sideways, stretching his arm out along the back of the couch behind her.

The fist tightened involuntarily. "She was a mother. She was _my_ mother, and she failed." Though it was subtle, there was some small quiver in her gravelly voice that she couldn't quite check. She blamed it on the lack of sleep.

Puzzlement didn't leave his tone, though it was joined now by the beginnings of realization. "...And you are afraid," he observed quietly, "of continuing that legacy with our child."

To hear it at last articulated made her flinch again inexplicably. To occupy her restless fingers, she scratched her cheek. "My family history speaks for itself, Regal. Virginia gave up her children in the name of 'saving' them. Because the world frightened her, she abandoned her responsibility to take care of them."

"I don't understand. The diary—"

"The diary I received in Exire catalogs the gut-wrenching pain of a woman who made a choice because she was 'powerless.' She _couldn't_ protect her children. So what," she finally asked, her voice lowering even more as she spoke words she had been keeping locked away for days and even now plead to remain silent, "makes anyone think I could?"

From the cushion, his hand moved to cradle the back of her head and stroke once through her hair. "That's what all of this has been about?" he asked softly. She could hear the dismay in his voice, the worry and incredulity, and she turned her face further away from him. "That you think you will 'fail' as a mother?"

"I don't exactly have the best example, now do I?

To her surprise, he actually released a small chuckle. "Raine, you have one of the best examples anyone could hope for. _You_." Her brow creased, but he continued. "You've already done this once, my love, and against impossible odds, you succeeded in raising an independent, brilliant young man. You've already been tested."

Raine shook her own head. "He is my brother, not my son," she asserted. People had always likened her to his mother, but it was different. It had always been different to her, somehow. She had never wanted to be that. To her, the term had become something detestable, synonymous with betrayal. Because she had been all he had, she had never once even considered giving up. She would have done anything for Genis, it was true – but the world had never made her choose between him and it. It had never tried to take him from her. She'd had to protect, shield, provide – but never hold onto. It was different. It just... _was_.

"We're not talking about biology, Raine. Whether or not you gave birth to him does not change the fact that you raised him – and _well_. What in the world makes you think you could not raise a child who _is_ yours?"

Unconsciously, she shifted away from his arm behind her. "I don't know how to be one."

"And I have no idea how to be a father, despite the fact that I did grow up with one. No one knows how to be a parent until they are one." She felt him rise from the cushion and carefully slip around to crouch in front of her. There wasn't anywhere else she could go; she automatically shrank back as much as she could, but she was rather effectively trapped.

Raine again shook her head. It didn't make sense. She knew that. That was the worst kind of turmoil: that which could not just be dispelled by logic. "All it takes is one moment of weakness. What was best for Genis was usually best for me, too. I was never presented with a choice like the one she made. I said she was afraid of the world and that's why she gave us up. _I'm_ afraid of the world, too," she confided, closing her eyes. "What if I'm not strong enough? What if, in trying to do what is best for the child, I also make the wrong decision? What if...I'm just...like...her."

"No."

There was such definitive confidence in the word he spoke without an instant's hesitation. While she writhed in discomfort and uncertainty, there wasn't a shred of doubt in his voice, his posture. Regal allowed his hands to rest on her lap, applying the slightest pressure in what she knew was an attempt to get her to look at him. She still didn't. She still _couldn't_.

"Raine... I..." He looked down, then back up as if searching for the right words. "I know you are afraid. The world can be a cruel and unforgiving place. But... You are not your mother. You will never have to make that decision. You will never know what it is to be alone. I am _here_ , with you." He reached out to take both of her hands in his and tugged gently. "You have raised one child already, and I know without the slightest doubt that you will be an extraordinary mother to our child."

Finally, slowly, she turned her gaze to meet his. Her stomach was still twisting, but there was such surety, such affection in his expression, in that soft, encouraging smile.

"I promise you," he continued softly. "You can do this. We can do this. You are the strongest woman I have ever met, and I _know_ that you will love this child unconditionally as I will, and we will walk through every trial and joy. Together." He brought one of her hands to his lips and smiled behind her knuckles. "Trust me if you won't trust yourself. I have enough faith for both of us," he teased her.

Her mask cracked, and hints of a smile hinted at the corner of her mouth before she looked down. That, at least, she could believe. Raine closed her eyes and drew her other hand back to rub at them as they stung with fatigue. She was _exhausted_ – but...she did feel a little of her anxiety ebb with the feeling of his confident touch when he kissed the back of her hand. With them, Virginia had been alone, her husband dying. With Genis, she had been alone, a child raising a child. Now, she wasn't alone. Her husband was there, he was strong and dedicated.

The cycle ended here. All they could do, she supposed, was the best they could. And she would never, _never_ give up her child.

Regal stood and tugged at her hand again to draw her up with him. "Come to bed," he whispered when she was on her feet.

She let her forehead rest against his chin, leaning into his sturdy frame. "Okay," she finally whispered back. "...I'm ready." In so many ways, though her nerves were still frayed. She could do this.

They could do this.


End file.
